 Radio's own show, Behind the Mic. With a switch of a dial, radio brings you tragedy, comedy, entertainment, information, education, a whole world at your command. But there are stories behind radio. Stories behind your favorite program and favorite personalities. And radio people you never hear of. Stories as amusing, dramatic, and as interesting as any make-believe stories you hear on the air. And that's what we give you. The human interest, the glamour, the tragedy, the comedy, and information that are behind the mic. Now presenting a man whose name since the beginning of broadcasting has been a byword in radio, Graham McNamee. Thank you. And good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience. This afternoon you will hear more amusing stories of the early days of radio, as told by one of radio's earliest script writers, Catherine Seymour. We will present an unusual musical soloist, an actual audition of a young actress aspiring to secure roles on NBC's programs, and finally a salute to an old favorite, Harbour Lights. And now I want to introduce a lady who in spite of her youth is a radio pioneer. She is one of the first script writers in the business, and right now she is the very successful author of one of radio's most popular daytime serials, Light of the World. She's going to tell about the good old hilarious mad days of early radio, Catherine Seymour. Kate, suppose you tell us about the early days of radio by describing your own experiences. Well, Graham, in 1925, soon after I graduated from Barnett College, I wanted to be a writer. But most of all, I needed a job. I heard that a strange place called Radio Station W-E-A-F was taking on people. I walked into their tiny office, managed to get an interview with an executive and said, I'd like to apply for a job as typist. I hear you're in need of one. Yes, we are. Can you play the piano? Play a piano. I thought you wanted a typist. We do. But well, we've got to be able to double the work here. You see, Johnny Johnston, our publicity man, plays a magnificent jazz piano. Mr. Poe Dine, our sales manager, has a beautiful baritone voice. And Miss Jackson, the girl at the switchboard... You don't mean to tell me that even the girl at the switchboard... Well, sure. She's a pianist. What's my next program? Well, here you are, Mac. You're on in ten minutes. Okay. What's that? That's Graham McDonough. He sings. Well, I could play the piano. I could play the piano a little, Graham. So I did get that job typing, as you remember. Yes, I remember those days, Kay. Phil Carlin was the black sheep of the outfit. He was an announcer. And all he could do was announce. But mighty good. Things were certainly wild in those days and different. For commercials, we used to ad-lib the names of our sponsors into their programs. Practically nothing was ever said about the products themselves. Radio was a strange business in those early days. Most of us were ashamed to say we were working in radio. During our lunch hours, a lot of us used to go out looking for jobs because everyone knew there was no future in radio. And we just couldn't be sure when the whole business would fold up. When friends asked me what I was doing, I'd say, Oh, I'm in radio right now, but it's just until I get something worthwhile. Well, how did you become a scriptwriter from being a typist, Kay? Well, as you remember, we already had one scriptwriter. At last, I went to my boss and told him I didn't want to be a typist anymore. I wanted to be a scriptwriter. I remember what he said when I told him. But we already have a man writing scripts. Yes, but I think we should have another scriptwriter. Young lady, no radio station will ever need more than one scriptwriter. But I kept after him till I got his grudging consent. No station will ever need more than one scriptwriter. Wow. Kay, remember the bright idea you had about Shaharizadi? That is when you experimented with the notion of using music as a background for narration. Seems to me it was the first time this was ever done. Yes, I think it was. My idea was to have somebody recite each week one of the stories from the Arabian Nights and use orchestral music for a background. We had no rehearsal for the show since the musicians were union men and had to be paid. And we couldn't afford that. So just about half a minute before the broadcast started, the orchestra rushed into the studio and I had only a few seconds to explain to the orchestra leader that we wanted something special. I said, now look, Graham McNamee is going to read a story into the mic and you're to play softly as background music. It's something new. Well, the leader looked bewildered but he tapped for his orchestra and the program began. Remember in those days the engineer couldn't control the broadcast as he came today because we only had one microphone for both orchestra and speaker. So the program started like this. And now, ladies and gentlemen, we present tales from the Thousand and One Nights. Once upon a time... There lived... ...who didn't hear a word that was spoken during that entire half hour. I was in tears when it was all over. I went up to the orchestra leader and said, Why didn't you soften the music? And he said... Listen, I got 22 men and they got to be paid so that they can be hired. Listen, you know, and they got to play so that they can be hired and I got a reputation as a band leader. I should soften down the music so an announcer can talk. No, no, not me. And from such quaint beginnings came the smooth, almost technically flawless radio we have today. Thank you, Catherine Seymour, for your most interesting stories. And now for another one of those behind-the-mic scenes you have come to expect on our program. We are going to present a real audition of a young actress who aspires to perform on NBC's sustaining programs. Before we begin the audition, let us introduce to you the people who do the auditioning. NBC's dramatic audition department. Ms. Marjorie Loeber and Mr. Al Williams. Thanks, Graham. Now, first here's Marjorie, one of the most sought-after people in radio, sought after by every person who even thinks they have talent as an actor or an actress. Good afternoon, Marjorie. Hello, Graham. Now I know that many, many people would like to have you two on the spot answering questions about how to get into radio. So speaking for all of them, here goes. What exactly do you two people do? Well, first, before we even come to the auditions, I interview everybody who comes knocking at the door. They have to convince me pretty thoroughly because of their background and experience that they have something valuable to offer professional radio. If they pass the audition, that is, if you like their work and think they have possibilities, does that get them a job on our various programs? No, as a matter of fact, it doesn't, Graham. We first have to come... Excuse me. Sorry, I was counting up the audition applications for this week. We first have to audition, then we recommend them to the various program directors when they are casting dramatic parts. And we introduce them to the directors with the hope that in the future they may be able to someday use them. About how many applications a week do you receive from people who want to get acting jobs on the air? Well, including letters, I should say roughly about 200 applications a week. How many people do you audition a week? Well, Marjorie weeds out most of those original applications in her interviews. Of the 200, we find only about 30 who have had sufficient background to warrant an audition. Of those 30, possibly only five show definite talent or promise. Those are the people that we recommend to the directors. What do these people do in their auditions? Well, instead of telling you about it, I think it would be a better idea if we actually conducted an audition right now. That's a real behind-the-mic scene. All right, Marjorie, would you produce an applicant? Here's a young actress, Patricia Bright. She's 18 years old and quite attractive. She acquired theatrical experience this past summer by playing in professional stock at Litchfield, Connecticut. When she was younger, she appeared many times on a small station on various children's programs, and of course, she's done considerable amateur theatrical work. But you've never appeared on an NBC program? No, I haven't, but I'd like to. Well, that's just what we're going to try to make possible, but first we want to be sure that you have the necessary talent. We're going to the control room, Margie, and I, and listen to you through the microphone. Will you please read the material from which we're to judge? And now Al Williams and Marjorie Lover are going into the control room to listen to Miss Bright over the microphone. Okay, I see the signal to go ahead. Good luck, Miss Bright. Thank you. By the way, Miss Lover, I've written this material myself. A 19-year-old girl has just regained her sight after 16 years of blindness. She is speaking to a fiancé whom she's never seen until a few short minutes ago. You're wondering, aren't you? How I was able to recognize you this afternoon in a crowded room before I heard your familiar voice. You see, I had a peculiar feeling when I looked at you, the same feeling of joyful excitement that I experienced a long time ago when first I heard you speak. Always there was something about you which made something glow inside of me. That must have been why I recognized you because it was that very same brightness that's shown today when for the first time in 16 years I opened my eyes and saw you. Speaking to a number of foreign-born women, one gets the impression that there's a particular temperament reflected in each dialect and country represented. For example, the opposite is a Viennese girl. She would be humble and strikingly sincere in her manner of speech. So it'd be a touch of bewilderment and wistfulness about her voice. Now, a cockney English girl would possess none of these qualities as indicated by her manner of address. She's the epigo-locky type, you know, and her voice is louder, more boisterous and covers many rinds of pitch from a deep rough tone to a heart-quick life tone. The little scotch lassie with a roll of her aard exemplifies her nationality by even economizing on her words. Now, a Russian girl has perhaps the deepest quality of all. She's dramatic. Even in ordinary conversations and has a personal and the clinging wine type of voice, especially when she talks about love. Even in our own city, we have several modes of speech. Now, a common subway variety is one which sounds pretty much like this. So it's like I was saying, Millicent. Party, as you recall, and up he walks to me and all of a sudden he asked me to this classy affair. Well, as much as I enjoy a nice party, I don't want to be too wearin'chist, so I said. Well, as much as I'd like to accept your flattery norther, I'm afraid I'll have to recline it. But listen, I said, it ain't that I wouldn't like to go, you understand, but the truth is I ain't got nothing to wear. Well, Millicent, you could have thrown me over. Why, he's so gallant. What do you think he says? He says to me, that's okay, Lady Godiva, I got a clothes car. I suppose you're anxious to hear the results. I certainly am, Miss Lover. Well, your voice quality is excellent, clear and sharp. We judge your age range, oh, 17 to 20 years. You read your lines intelligently and you're evidently quite versatile. I like your dialects. Your little love scene showed that you have emotion and you're very real and convincing. Well, I suspected you would be good, and I will have no hesitation at all in recommending you to our directors for parts in their programs. And I wish you the very best of luck. Oh, thank you very much, Miss Lover and Mr. Williams. Congratulations, Patricia. And thank you, Marjorie Lover, Al Williams, and Patricia Breit for giving us another scene of what goes on behind the mic. Here's what we call house orchestras that play on NBC's sustaining shows. You can find as good musicians, and in some cases better, than most of the highly publicized orchestra men whose names you hear on the radio and read about in the various radio columns. For instance, in our band on behind the mic, you will find some of the best players in radio. Pinocchio as well as instrumental. Every once in a while, we're going to ask one of these musicians to demonstrate his talent. Our first guest is one of our own violinists, Zellie Smirnoff. Isn't that a beautiful name? He didn't make it up either. It's really his. Zellie, before you play your violin, I want to ask you a few questions. What qualifications must you have in order to hold a job as an NBC instrumentalist? Well, Graham, you may not have to be known to the public, but you do have to be known in the business as a thorough musician, and a pretty versatile one, too. Versatile? Yes, because you not only have to play in the jazz idiom, but you also have to play in the symphony orchestra as well. You fellows don't only play on sustaining programs, do you? No. A lot of us play in the radio orchestras of important commercial band leaders. Fine. Now how about that solo, Zellie? Well, Ernie Watson, our orchestra leader, and I have worked out a little arrangement of Wings of Song, and here it is. And I'm sure everyone is going to enjoy it, Zellie, to which it can well be proud, a tradition of good programs that linger fondly in our memory. And so each week, we bring you a star or a part of a program you used to hear, a program you loved. This afternoon, we salute Harbor Lights, a half-hour series of dramatic tales of the sea. It started sailing the airwaves in the spring of 1930 and ran until 1933. This afternoon, behind the mic, recreates an episode from Harbor Lights, especially condensed for this program by its author, Burr Cook, and starring Edwin Whitney, the original Captain Jimmy Norton. Harbor Lights. Well, Harbor Lights are back again. Once again, we're ready to go aboard the old New York ferry boat, where we'll meet White-haired Captain Jimmy Norton and his young friend Joe. And here are another of Captain's stories of the days of the clipper ships and high adventures. All aboard. I promised to tell the story of the two old friends, Peter Gassett and Seth Lewis, and the time that you were stuck in the Sargosa weeds. That's right, Joe. The story of Peter Gassett, when he advised a friendship and to one of the oldest superstitions in the sea. I was the first made to the Lucy Barrett, big three-masted schooner out of Boston. Captain, Seth Lewis. We'd made a record run to Rio and was clearing again for Boston when Peter Gassett came into the sea. Well, uh, just who was Peter Gassett, Captain? There, Peter was an old beatcomer down at Rio, but he'd been a sea-fan man in his day. And I recollect, I was with Captain Lewis in the shipping office of the Rocky Marek the afternoon that Peter came in. And he was a wreck of a man, shabby clothes and dirty gray beard, his watery eyes gazing across at Captain Lewis with a half-scared look in him. Well, for a second he stood, fiddling with his cap. I don't know if you remember me, Seth Lewis. Peter Gassett. That was shipmate with you years ago, right or right? No. I don't remember you, Peter Gassett. I had caused to remember you. I was thinking maybe you forget you're feeling again me, Seth, being to us so long ago, and we were friends once. Why did you come here? I'd like to ship back to Boston, Seth, back home. I'm an old man, but still fit to stand watch or man the wheel. Well, the crew is filled and no room for super cargo. Can't you take pity on an old beach rat, Seth? I've done a heap of pain for being the man I was. And I got a daughter back home in your bed for Carol. I'd like to see you again before it's too late. Can you, uh... can you make room for an extra hand, Mr. Norton? Maybe on the port watch, sir. Balded the dukes not overfit. Very well. I'll take you, Peter. God bless you, Seth. Sign with Mr. Norton here. We weigh anchor at sundown. All right, sir. If you'd forgive me, Seth, in the bargain? Don't bear on that score, Peter. Go and sign up. I'll take you home. Oh, we put the sea, Joe. Drop Cape St. Rook. A whole gale hitters and rovers far to the east end and then ladders up. One hot, salty evening without so much as a ripple to marker gold. And you were becombed in the dread Sargosa Sea? Motionless as a statue. And there we lay, where one week went by and another and another. And by the end of the fourth week the crew was ugly and mutinous, sick with scurvy and a sort of blindness that came over. And Peter gassed it? Each night a change of watch. Oh, Peter, heave his spare limbs to the toggle and focusle and spin wild yarns and croaky shanties to try and make them forget. Then one evening a bunch of the men staggered aft and boldly duke stepped out ahead of them. We've had enough of it, Seth Lewis. Yeah, that's right. What's in your idle page now? Hey, the sea wants this. One of us. Four will take all of us. Someone's got to go. And we picked the one. A lot of semen talking witch magic, eh? Hey, call it superstition or whatever you like. We picked the one to go. It's you, Captain Seth Lewis. What is this, mutiny? Get back there. Now it's me, eh? Well, heart to this. There's lead enough in these pistols to rest two slugs of peace in your bellies. And now, go forward. Are you belong? We'll take a chance with him. It'll be tonight at midnight. I'll put an end to him. We'll take the cabin on two sides, Baldi, me and six men to port and you and the rest to starboard. Hey, up on the folks on Nick here and I'll serve you another yarn. Hey, spin away, old pirate. Is your voice Baldi? By the foremost? Hey, we're all here in the dark. Spin your yarn, Pop. It is the last yarn, I'll tell you. I happened this summer really for when the Troll of Frobisher was lost in the North Atlantic. Her sticks ripped out, all right? And all hands lost but the two of them. Two friends in a dory, two men in a boat and a gal back home, they both loved. Aye, get on with it. That fourth morning was the worst. The dory scuddened the crest like a scab petrol and a gale of lawn and a whistlin'. Well, I don't reckon Carol Adams would see either of us again. I ain't given up yet, all right, all right. Look out, Seth, here comes the big one. Are you all right, Peter? I'm still hanging on, Seth. Carol was to give her answer to us. Coming back from this cruise. Funny, eh? 200 miles to a landfall and one biscuit and two drinks of water left between us. Let's take it now. Let's take it now. Leave it alone, Seth. Peter. The water. It's gone. You and me. I couldn't help it. I was dying at first and I'm going to leave to see her all right, all right, because I love Carol Adams more than you do and I won't die. I won't die. That's your yarn, old timer. A love village skunk stealing his dorymate's water. Aye, that's what he was. For that's a law the sea no man's a right to break. And did they get a shore puff? Aye, nearer dead than alive. And Carol Adams chose the man you call a skunk. But he was branded with his shame, exiled and forgotten 25 years ago. Eh, eh. It is the last yarn I'll spin you. Go on, Dathman. Yankee's sloop came down the river. Ha, ha, Roland John. Oh, what do you think that sloop had in her? Ha, ha, Roland John. A monkey's hide and bullock's liver, dead men's bones that'll make you shiver. I swear to you, Seth, I've squared accounts. If you see my daughter Carol, when you get back home, tell her you knew her dad. And he was an honest, sea-faring man. Bless you. Peter Gassett. You mean Peter Gassett jumped overboard in the dark? The human victim that sent the rest of you free? Eh, that's what he did, son. Oh, but you don't think his throwing himself overboard had anything to do with the wind coming up just then? Well, I was never a superstitious customer, Seth Joe, but who knows? Now I see we're coming in, so up for it, we're here. Okay, thanks for the iron, Captain Jimmy. Good night. Good night, sir. Take care, sir. The mists of memory close around the figure of old Captain Jimmy Norton, and we return once more to everyday scenes. Captain Jimmy Norton is the man who directs this program. Be sure to listen next week. When behind the mic, we'll bring you another type of audition. Singers trying out for a sustaining spot on the NBC network. A salute to an old favorite, Cook's Fowl Talks. A human interest story behind Death Valley Days' program. And more of the glamour, the tragedy, and the comedy that are found behind the mic. This is Graham McNamee speaking. Good afternoon all. This is the National Broadcasting Company.